


rising

by mellowly



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Historical Hetalia, OOC-ness?, War-Typical Violence, World War II, human OC - briefly, meta nation stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 03:43:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13449825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellowly/pseuds/mellowly
Summary: in the middle of a battlefield, one has little time to think and less time to act.(or: the warsaw uprising with an old (very young) man in its midst.)





	rising

**early July, 1944, Warsaw**

* * *

 

War, Poland realised for the thousandth time as he reloaded the battlement’s only machine gun, was very confusing. War was confusing, and fast, and really fucking loud.

The continuous knattering of submachine guns, people shouting, glass breaking - the stone-splitting roar of the inferno after a fire bomb, it all echoed in his head as he finished pushing the cartridge in. Not to mention, he thought grimly, the scraping, never-ending _ache_ of his people dying by the thousands.

It was, really, pretty exhausting.

He gestured to his boys for a pause in firing and clambered to the top of the barricade, setting his knee in some gravel and muttering a weak curse between clenched teeth as he peered over what looked suspiciously like the rests of a bedframe onto the street.  
At once, he heard a bullet fly and ducked just in time to get the edge of his helmet splintered. “Damn, fuck, freaking Jerries won’t even let a man get an eye in,” he swore, tumbling backwards onto the ground and scrambling to mention that his battalion really should fire just about now, before they had the Germans poking their nasty heads over the sandbags.  
And so, the ruckus started again, and Poland reneged command to Tomas Piątek, a strapping young lad with a penchant to just keep firing, which worked out well when Poland really had to dodge off for a piss.

He returned to five men alive and the battlement failing.

So, another one gone, and such a shame with the gun, he complained bitterly, gathering up his stuff - a bag full of bottles and rags, his trusted Błyskawica, his hat - and his men to run like frightened mice through two cellars and a back yard, leaving a nice little grenade in the doorway as a fare-well present for any enemy soldier who might like to follow them.

Poland threw himself over the last wall and tumbled to his knees, caught by a pair of strong arms mid-fall as the cough began again, ash and blood and acid fighting its way out of his lungs in big heaves that were pitiful, really, all he wanted to do was wipe his mouth and keep going.

“Sir, sir, you really should lie down, we have a hospital just a street from here,” said one of the boys quite unhelpfully as another round of coughs rattled his thin body.  
"Please shut you mouth, that’s what,” Poland wheezed, standing and setting his ruined helmet back on his head. It was almost sunset, and he smiled, a hand on his hip and regaining the familiar gleam to his eyes. 

“Now, boys, we have a city to avenge, better get to it, no?”

 

_first to fight, last to stand._

**Author's Note:**

> Wowie! My first work posted, although not my first written. More to come!


End file.
